Aristophanes' Redux
by Sparkylovesfire
Summary: Jogan/Light fic. Greek AU. Summary and details inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Aristophanes' Redux  
><strong>Author:<strong> br33_br33/Sparkylovesfire/taweesha  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Logan/Julian. Ancient Greek AU. Slave!Julian.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: M (for later chapters)  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 4,497

**Warnings:** Historical inaccuracies. I'm afraid that while I know some things about Greek culture, I am far from an expert. And there will probably be some things I have to make incorrect for the sake of the story. Sorry in advance. Also, rating is because there will be sex later on, and might some light dub-con (really light, I promise).

**Summary:** Logan is the son of a wealthy aristocrat. One day in the marketplace, he meets a boy with sparkling brown eyes, and his life changes for good.

_**Author's Note: First chapter of the Greek AU! I really like how it's coming along so far. So, please, leave feedback. Maybe if you see an inconsistency I might want to try to correct or something.**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Dalton, Logan or Julian. They belong to the lovely Miss CP Coulter. There will be random characters that I made up for the stories purposes. But most of them belong to Mama CP._

* * *

><p><em>Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law.~Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius<em>

On the morning of the twenty-sixth day of Gamelion, day of the marriage festival in Athens, Logan Wright was simply strolling through the marketplace with his best friend Derek Seigerson, on their way to take part in the late morning festivities. He was absolutely sick of the holiday already, like he was each year. Every being in sight was doting on their partner, desperately wishing for one, or, in the case of the performers and artists of the city, singing, crying, or professing the words of love onto those who pass by.

Logan, however, was not one of those. He had no lover to gush over, and though he did miss the feel and company of another person, he wasn't pathetic enough to whine about it. And while he was a musician—and a very good one at that—he had no intention of wasting his time flouncing about and pandering to crowds of people who didn't deserve to hear him in the first place.

"Look a little more enthused, Wright." Derek smirked. "You love the theater." Derek was being ironic, and the damn boy knew it.

"I have infinitely many more important things to be doing than watching some hogwash about make-believe people doing make-believe things," Logan said. "Why people enjoy watching other people play pretend is beyond me. If I wanted to educate myself on the vices and follies of man, I would simply read them. Not watch some bumbling idiot in a mask act it out for me." Maybe he was just unrefined and savage, but that was his true opinion, and he had no problem whatsoever telling it to whoever may listen.

He wouldn't even be out in public today if he could help it. The only reason he even bothered himself with it was because his father was adamant about his going and promised him whatever his heart desired most if he simply made an appearance and pretended to enjoy himself. Nothing was off limits, and Logan intended to use it well.

Derek brushed over Logan's words and veered towards his favorite topic: women. The boy had broken more hearts in his lifetime than there were gods to be celebrated. Logan rolled his eyes and ceased to pay attention; Derek had a habit of going in very _in depth_ when he spoke of his various sexual encounters, and to be honest, Logan never enjoyed them very much. It was part of the reason Gamelia put him in such a foul mood. He would never be allowed to marry the type of person who drew his attentions, if not by law than by his father, who expected Logan to get over his phase of attraction to members of the same sex. But it wasn't as easy as his father made it out to be…

Logan was just beginning to pondering of this when he saw the boy.

He was arguing with the fruit vendor about the price of a pomegranate.

"That's quite an outlandish price for one pomegranate," the boy chastised.

"It's quite reasonable considering the recent shortage and…" But what else to consider was lost to Logan, as he was far too enchanted by the boy in the slightly frayed white tunic, hands on his hips and a look of thoroughly annoyed superiority gracing his handsome face. He had wavy oak brown hair that fell into his face and covered his bright sepia eyes several times over the course of Logan's staring, and he had to shove it away with an impatient hand.

He was beautiful.

"Logan?" Derek's voice echoed, but Logan's attentions were far too gone. He walked forward with a purpose, intent on somehow speaking to this boy, though what he would say once he got there he hadn't the faintest idea.

"Yes, well, it's still a big jump from yesterday," the boy said coldly.

"You can take it or leave it. I'm sure there are others who would happily pay the price. Hurry and make your decision. I would like to close up soon." At this the brown-eyed boy frowned. Then, with an exasperated sigh, pulled out two obols from a small cloth sack. The vendor smiled devilishly.

_Trying to swindle another out of his money, eh, Bakchos? We'll see about that._

"Here—"

"Allow me." The boy's eyes widened marginally as Logan promptly pushed his hand away before pulling a single obol of his own from his money purse he kept strapped tightly to his thigh. "There's your payment, Bakchos. And my father will be informed of this attempted price gauging, and I'm sure the officials won't be pleased."

"My apologies, Logan, sir…" Bakchos dipped for a low bow. "I had no idea—"

"That I was standing nearby? I assumed so, since I'm fairly certain you wouldn't have been trying to take advantage of this boy had you known. Now give him his fruit. In fact, I believe you'd do well to give him _twice _what I paid for, as an apology. I might not tell my father if you do so…"

"Here you are," Bakchos said, pushing two of the largest pomegranates into the boy's hands. "And accept my sincerest apologies. My behavior was quite unbecoming."

"…Thank you." The boy accepted the fruit with the curtest of nods, placing them in a woven basket hanging from his arm. "And I suppose I owe you a thank you as well." His eyes turned to Logan and, shining in the bright of sun, were like hard chips of tiger's eye gem, with a multitude of different browns mingling together in an almost hypnotic swirl.

"You're very welcome," Logan said as debonairly as he could muster.

"I said I suppose I owe you one. Not that I was going to give it to you." The boy quickly turned on his heel and stalked out, leaving Logan standing with a gaping mouth and scrunched up eyebrows.

It wasn't until the boy rounded the corner and Bakchos snickered that Logan gained his wits back and set off after him.

It took hardly any time to catch the boy, whose casual strut spoke volumes about the arrogant pride lurking beneath the drab clothing.

"It's very rude to just walk away from someone after he not only paid for your fruit, but scolded a family friend on your behalf."

"And it's very rude to just insert yourself into someone else's business," the boy chided, eyes never leaving the path ahead of him. "If you think for one moment I need your pity just because I may not be as well off as you—"

"I never said anything like that," Logan scoffed.

"You didn't need to," the boy said. "It was evident in your cocky grin and the way you walked as though the ground didn't deserve to have your feet trample on it."

_Sharp tongue. _"I wasn't trying to offend you. Pardon me for trying to be considerate."

"I don't need your help," the boy snapped. "In fact, you've probably just made things worse than they needed to be."

"What?"

"Nothing. You're obviously one of those leap-without-thinking types, and you probably don't care if it ends up costing others. Not so long as it gets you what you want." The boy whirled around to Logan, eyes blazing. "Now, you're obviously not the kind of person who does things out of the kindness of his heart. What do you want?"

Logan had to actually stop and think for a moment. He couldn't very well say, _"Beautiful boys are my undoing_," without scaring his companion away.

"I'm not very fond of Bakchos, and his son is loathsome brat. Any opportunity I have to make him look foolish is an opportunity I relish." It was a fairly accurate statement. Bakchos happened to be a disgrace of a human being, and his son had always rude to Logan and his family (though never outright). It wasn't the real reason, but it was true enough for his purposes.

"Right. Well, you've done what you set out to do. Now you can leave me alone."

"You're still not going to give me a "thank you very much, kind sir, for going out of your way for me," for my trouble?" The boy sighed.

"Thank you," the boy nearly spat. Logan smiled, and he knew it was an arrogant sort of a smile, one that said he'd once again gotten his way. "And I'll thank you even more when you cease to be in my breathing space."

"Boy! Do you have the pomegranate the master asked for?" A fat man a little further down shouted, and the boy immediately turned, bowing his head slightly.

"Yes. I'm on my way. I was giving this young man directions."

"Hurry up, then! The master isn't going to be happy you've kept him waiting this long." Then the fat man disappeared into the crowd of people making their way to the amphitheater for the performance.

"You are a slave," Logan said stupidly.

"Astute observation. Your parents must be so proud to know they've raised such a bright boy," the boy hissed. The comment stung more than even Logan was prepared for. "But yes, I am a slave of the man who runs the theater production. Now if you'll excuse me, some of us actually have work to do." Then he too mixed with the exiting crowd, but Logan somehow managed to keep him in sight until Derek clapped a tight hand on his shoulder.

"Well, that went over well. I think he likes you."

"Oh, shut up Seigerson," Logan grumbled. "What do you know about courting boys? You've had your hand reaching for a breast from the moment you realized they were there for more than just decoration."

"Courting him, now are you?" Derek's sly grin slid into place. "You don't even know the boy's name, and you're attempting to bed him? Even I have higher standards than that."

"Yes, you prefer to know the girl's name, so as you don't make her angry by calling out another when you've reached your peak,: Logan shot back. They glared at each other for a few moments longer before Derek looped Logan's neck with his arm and pulled him down to ruffle his hair.

"You know I only tease," he said. "And he was quite something to look at, so at least you have some taste."

"More than I can say for you," Logan laughed, shoving Derek's arm away playfully and hooked his own beneath Derek's arms to lock him in a full nelson "Or need I remind you of Tabitha?"

"That was a grave mistake, and I'd appreciate it if you never spoke of it again. She's Medusa in disguise, that one." He broke free from Logan's grasp, ducking as the blond threw a light punch his way. "Now come on. We're not going to get good seats if we don't hurry. Everyone's probably already there, including your lover boy." Logan shot daggers Derek's way, but said nothing in retaliation.

Instead, he simply said, "Let's go then."

* * *

><p>Derek had been lying when he said they wouldn't have seats for the performance. Logan's father and mother (though they loathed each other, and Father would much rather bring his favorite concubine Michelle with him instead) were waiting in the best section of the theater, where everything could be seen and heard with little to no effort.<p>

It was going to make ignoring the show so much more difficult.

There was light buzz of chatter going throughout amphitheater, and it made Logan crinkle his nose in annoyance.

"I'm very glad you're here, son," John Logan Wright II whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "You know how they talk about you anymore—"

"Yes, that I am a conceded brat who knows nothing of refinement and delicacy," Logan drawled, a repetition of his father's words on many occasions. "I am well aware of how the people of Athens view me, Father." To be honest, they were fairly accurate.

"Then you know it is very unbecoming, even of a scholar, to act in such a way," his father's voice turned low and dangerous. "You must shape up. I will not be able to claim it is simply adolescent arrogance refusing to release its grip on you. This behavior must stop."

"Of course, Father," Logan answered politely. "Now hush. The show is about to begin." As if on cue, a small boy rushed forward and began speaking, setting up the setting and plot for the play _Antigone._

Logan feigned interest at first, watching closely as the actors playing Antigone and her sister Ismene spoke outside the castle. Though it started out decent and as something that might hold Logan's attention, it quickly faded into the typical tragedy Logan was expecting. Cries of woe, declarations of love, desperate pleas for forgiveness. He'd seen it all before. Same premise, different packaging.

The play lasted longer than the ones Logan usually attended, because he made an effort to stay awake and even gasped when King Creon found the dead body of his wife, life taken by her own hand. He gave a rousing round of applause as the actors took their bows on stage. Overall, he had to say, he gave a pretty damn good show of his own. Father looked pleased, anyway.

Once the play concluded, it was midafternoon. Just enough time for those preparing for guests later in the evening to rush home and oversee the affairs. Logan's mother happened to be one, escorted home by his father.

"Don't be late for dinner," his mother said curtly. "Your father is in one of his moods, and I am not going to listen to his complaining if you aren't on time."

"Yes, Mother," Logan said. She smiled at him, tight-lipped and bitter. She really had no love for this boy, though she birthed and nursed him. She merely saw a reflection of his father, a repetition of his terrible deeds. Logan simply had not met the girl to make it so.

_ I wish she'd stopped looking at me like that. Father has little more love for me than he does for her. _But, he supposed, a little more than none is still more than none.

She left him on quick feet, dancing through the crowd with such grace and swiftness his father had a difficult time keeping up.

Logan ran to the outer edge of the amphitheater as quickly as he could manage. He couldn't go too far, because he promised Derek he would wait, but he could get away from all the people chatting and laughing. They were probably discussing their plans for the afternoon, before dinner would be served. Derek and Logan would be off in the woods instead, as far away from everyone as possible. Hunting wasn't his favorite activity, but it beat the hustle and bustle of the city streets, with so many people packed together that you couldn't be sure where your hand was going to end up. Any other festival, Logan and Derek would be thrilled to join. But the idea of marriage made Derek queasy and Logan feel bleak. So they partook in what they absolutely had to and avoided what they could. It was the way they'd done it for the last few years.

A distant murmuring filled Logan's ears. Had he been talking to someone, he wouldn't have noticed it. But once he did, it was hard to let it go.

After a few moments contemplation, Logan decided to find where the murmuring was coming from. Derek was probably too engrossed in some girl to notice if Logan wasn't waiting for him _right _after. He'd be a little ticked, at worst. So Logan sneaked off down the sloping hill, coming to a halt near the edge of the stage.

The boy from earlier was standing off to the side. His eyes stared at the empty stage longingly, as though he'd love nothing more than to jump up there himself and act in front of the bare theater seats.

Logan would have said something to him, asked him what in the name of Zeus he was doing, when the boy opened his mouth and these words came spilling out:

"_Tomb, bridal chamber, eternal prison in the caverned rock, whither I go to find mine own, those many who have perished, and whom Persephone hath received among the dead! Last of all shall I pass thither, and far most miserably of all, before the term of my life is spent. But I cherish good hope that my coming will be welcome to my father, and pleasant to thee, my mother, and welcome, brother, to thee; for, when you died, with mine own hands I washed and dressed you, and poured drink-offerings at your graves; and now, Polyneices, 'tis for tending thy corpse that I win such recompense as this. And yet I honored thee, as the wise will deem, rightly. Never had I been a mother of children, or if a husband had been moldering in death, would I have taken this task upon me in the city's despite_

"_What law, ye ask, is my warrant for that word? The husband lost, another might have been found, and child from another, to replace the first-born; but, father and mother hidden with Hades, no brother's life could ever bloom for me again. Such was the law whereby I held thee first in honor; but Creon deemed me guilty of error therein, and of outrage, ah brother mine! And now he leads me thus, a captive in his hands; no bridal bed, no bridal song hath been mine, no joy of marriage, no portion in the nurture of children; but thus, forlorn of friends, unhappy one, I go living to the vaults of death. And what law of Heaven have I transgressed? _

"_Why, hapless one, should I look to the gods any more-what ally should I invoke-when by piety I have earned the name of impious? Nay, then, if these things are pleasing to the gods, when I have suffered my doom, I shall come to know my sin; but if the sin is with my judges, I could wish them no fuller measure of evil than they, on their part, mete wrongfully to me."_

It was a speech from the play, delivered by Antigone herself, but even the actor who recited this very monologue on stage put not the amount of emotion and sincerity into that this boy with brown eyes and tattered tunic did. He spoke every word as though it had been torn from his lips, a shattered remembrance to the loved ones mentioned. And in that moment, Logan understood why he detested the theater so; he'd never seen it done correctly. Or so beautifully. The passion and the intensity was nearly intoxicating. The words spoken were said with such maddening conviction, Logan had to resist the urge to reveal himself and beg the boy to do no more. His poor heart couldn't handle such a beautiful boy speaking such sad things.

"You!" a shriek caught Logan's and the boy's attention. The fat man from the marketplace was stalking towards him, fists clenched at his side and face purple with anger. The second he reached the boy, he reared back and punched him. The boy fell to the ground, lip bleeding. He didn't try to stand, only raise himself from the vulnerable position of being sprawled up on the ground.

"You stole that fruit, didn't you! That's why all the money was there!" He brought down a fleshy, hefty fist, rocking the boy back to the dirt.

The boy said nothing, just allowed the man to continue raining blow after blow against him.

"I gave you more than enough money to pay for the fruit the master ordered, and you're pathetic enough to resort to stealing?"

"I didn't steal it," the boy choked out. His voice was still as brash and bold as when he spoke to Logan before, defiant even when he had no right to be. "The vendor was trying to swindle me, and some guy told him off and paid for it."

"Liar!" This time the man kicked the boy's chest, hard enough that Logan could hear the _whoosh _of hair leaving the boy's lungs.

"I'm not lying, you great pig!" the boy gasped, but all it earned him was a slap across the face.

Logan had had enough.

"Excuse me!" The man turned around to see Logan marching down the hill with righteous fury smoldering in his green eyes.

"What do you want, sir?" the man said politely.

_He actually has the audacity to act like nothing's wrong, that bastard._

"I just came to inform you that he's not lying," Logan replied. "The vendor tried to charge him twice the cost of a pomegranate, and I stepped in to stop it. By my request as an apology, the vendor gave him two for the price of one." The man's demeanor swiftly changed. He paused for a moment, looking between Logan and the bleeding boy.

"Just be lucky I'm not going to the master about it," growled the man. "Instead, I'm going to have you running chamber duty for the next month." The boy reverted back to his earlier tactic of saying nothing, head bowed low and eyes trained on the ground. The man spat at him.

"Clean yourself up. You need to look presentable for this evening meal—at least as presentable as you can manage. I'll expect you back within the next half hour. Don't be late." He turned to Logan and with faux politeness, said, "Have a nice day, sir." Then he stalked off.

Logan immediately rushed to the boy's side and helped pull him into a standing position. Brown eyes turned, steely and agitated.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the boy hissed.

"That's the second time today you've spoken to me with contempt when what I deserved was gratitude."

"I thought I made it clear earlier that I didn't need your help." The boy brushed the dirt away from his tunic. "I will ask again: what are you doing here?"

"I heard you reciting the lines from the play. I came to listen," Logan explained. The boy's face broke into a hot flush.

"Oh."

"Yes, you're very good. Better than actors on stage." When he received nothing in return, Logan ventured, "Does that man always hit you?"

"Only when I've done something in his eyes to warrant it. Otherwise, he just pretends I don't exist."

"He shouldn't be allowed to do that," Logan said, his anger building again.

"If you think the worst he's done is knock me around a bit, you're in for a bitter surprise," the boy almost laughed.

"Someone needs to protect you—"

"You are not some hero from the stories, and I am not the pretty maiden you swoop in to save. Those are just the ramblings of old men who have nothing better to do than fill young men like you up with hopeless idealism."

"This is unfair! You did nothing to deserve such treatment."

"No, I did not. I won't disagree with you there. But neither you nor I can change it. It's the hand Fate dealt me, and I must make do." His voice wavered slightly, as if he didn't believe his own words. "Now, go. Laze about your room, read your scriptures, play with your javelins—I don't care. Just make sure, whatever it is, it doesn't involve me. I grow tired of these foolish encounters."

"We've only met twice," Logan reminded him.

"And it's two times of my life I wish I could redo," the boy answered. "Goodbye." Then he followed the path the fat man took. It took only a few moments before he was gone from Logan's sight.

In that moment before the boy disappeared, hips swaying and arrogant strut back in his slightly limping footsteps, Logan knew exactly what he was going to ask his father as payment for sitting through that abhorrent play.

* * *

><p>"You'd like a new slave?" John asked the next morning. Dinner the previous night had gone very, very well. After he hunted with Derek for only half the time they planned, he had hurried home, changed, and been the perfect son at the banquet. He asked all the right questions, and he acted thoroughly engaged in every bit of conversation that came his way. He even used his wit to charm quite a few of his father's friends and colleagues, so much so they made a point to tell John after dinner what a pure delight Logan was and how they were pleased to see him finally emerging into a man.<p>

After that display, Father couldn't possibly say no to his request.

"Not just a new slave. My own personal slave. One who does only what I want, not the daily chores about the house," Logan elaborated. Then, puffing out his chest and talking the way he had last night, "I feel, as I am growing more independent and older, I ought to have someone to tend to my needs. Someone I hand select."

"I suppose this means you already have a particular one in mind?"

"Very much."

"It's not a female, is it? Because I will not have any illegitimate pregnancies in this household—"

"No, he is male. I like him because he's smart, tactful, and good to talk to. So he'd be more of a companion than a slave really."

"Derek is not enough?"

"Derek is always leaving me to chase after the next prettiest girl to bat her eyes at him. I'd like someone to talk to who has more on the brain than just…his relations with women. Plus, Derek wouldn't be there to carry my things, now would he?"

His father drew in a long suffering sigh. Logan knew he had him nearly pinned.

"It means I'll be out of your hair a bit more," Logan added. "I'll have someone else who can go with me to the things like the Olympics and those different sports matches. Please, Father. You said I could have whatever I wanted if I went to the theater. _And_ I was a model son at dinner. Of all the things I've asked of you, can't you just grant me this?"

To anyone else, his father's posture would have seemed like he was bored, but Logan could see his resolve break.

"All right. If that's what you want, then that's what you shall have. You know where he resides, of course?"

Logan feigned a slightly pleased outer shell, but his insides were twisting with excitement. "Yes, Father. He is the slave of the man who does the theater production."

"Antipatros? He is a reasonable man who has more than his fair share of slaves. I'm sure he would be willing to part with one. Plus, he is a dear friend of mine. We will go this afternoon and speak with him. Until then, find a way to entertain yourself.

"Yes, Father."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Aristophanes' Redux  
><strong>Author:<strong> br33_br33/Sparkylovesfire/taweesha  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Logan/Julian. Ancient Greek AU. Slave!Julian.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: M (for later chapters)  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 4,543

**Warnings:** Historical inaccuracies. I'm afraid that while I know some things about Greek culture, I am far from an expert. And there will probably be some things I have to make incorrect for the sake of the story. Especially the ages, because Greek males are usually out of their homes by the age of eighteen. And married. Sorry in advance. Also, rating is because there will be sex later on, and might some light dub-con (really light, I promise).

**Summary:** Logan is the son of a wealthy aristocrat. One day in the marketplace, he meets a boy with sparkling brown eyes, and his life changes for good.

_**Author's Note: Chapter two! There still isn't too much Julian in this one, but I promise he'll be all over the place in the next chapter!**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Dalton, Logan or Julian. They belong to the lovely Miss CP Coulter. There will be random characters that I made up for the stories purposes. But most of them belong to Mama CP._

* * *

><p><em>"The moment the slave resolves that he will no longer be a slave, his fetters fall. Freedom and slavery are mental states."~Mahatma Gandhi<em>

The morning seemed to drag on more so than usual for Logan. Every time he shut his eyes, all he could see were bright brown ones staring back, all fire and intensity mixed with just a dash of indignation. He tried everything to distract himself, but nothing seemed to work. His mind continue to wander back to the boy and his lips and the way his hair fell into those beautiful eyes and—

Logan's cheeks flushed at the images that made their way into his thoughts. Indecent only barely began to cover them, and it only made matters worse that he didn't even know the boy's name. But still, his hand found itself way creeping slowly up his thigh and beneath his tunic.

Logan sighed contentedly as he stroked himself roughly. It wasn't the touch he craved; the callouses on his hands were too familiar, too known. His wrist flicked in a rhythm he'd done a thousand times was always good at pretending, so he closed his eyes and leaned back, his mind knowing exactly what he needed, even if it wasn't quite what he wanted.

Logan bit his lip, gripping tighter and tighter as he felt the impending tug in his belly of release. He tried to keep his fantasies civil, simply imagining another hand pulling him, someone (a brown-eyed someone) kissing his neck softly, maybe a tease of a bite every now and then. They soon morphed into his wildest dreams, of holding a boy down, ravishing him until the boy couldn't move, puffs of air escaping beautiful plump lips in animalistic pants and moans, fingers biting into his shoulders, shouts of his name lost in a frantic kiss as he—

Logan gasped in surprise as he came, trembling with the sheer force and overwhelming pleasure of his release. Thinking something so wrong shouldn't have felt this good. He should have been picturing himself with some pretty girl, with long hair knotted in a gentle braid, legs a mile long, and a soft, supple chest, but the ones he craved were all hard planes and rippled muscles. To be honest, though, Logan couldn't bring himself to care anymore; his attraction to men had long since stopped bringing him panic or despair. Now it was more of a light ache that occasionally manifested itself as momentary discomfort.

The high drifted away slowly, and Logan had hoped it would send the boy from his thoughts until later. But instead, the post-orgasm bliss simply brought new mental pictures to the surface; pictures of cuddling, of light teasing, of soft kisses. Of whispered affections.

_You don't even know him, _Logan thought sadly. _You're pathetic._

Frowning slightly at the mess he made, Logan quickly set off to find a clean tunic.

After grabbing a fresh outfit (one of his most expensive and his favorite) and a small bit of bread and an apple from the kitchen, Logan returned to his room where he promptly stripped himself of his soiled tunic (thankfully, it wasn't too noticeable. At least, not to anyone who didn't look closely).

He was strolling around his room, devouring his light snack, attempting to find ways to make the time go by, when the servant showed up.

"Young Master Wright, I—" the man, Aristus, stopped short, pausing at the doorway into Logan's room. Unfortunately, for this servant anyway, he was new and unused to things such as this. Many of the other slaves residing in the Wright home had been with them since before Logan's birth, and many had been around since he'd been little, so a naked Logan wasn't much of a spectacle. "I beg your pardon, sir. I was unaware—"

"It's perfectly all right," Logan assured. Because he actually liked his body and was completely unashamed of it, Logan didn't even feel the slightest inclination to cover up or feel embarrassed in any way. He actually basked in the awkward shifting of the servant before him.

"Um, a young Mister Seigerson is here to see you," Aristus said, doing all he could to advert his eyes away from Logan.

"Send him in," Logan said with a shrug.

"Would you like me to give you a moment to—" he gestured to Logan.

Logan smiled and shook his head. "No. It's perfectly all right. Derek's seen me do far worse things naked than simply walk around my room."

"Yes, Young Master," Aristus bowed one last time to Logan, before leaving quickly.

Derek strutted in a few moments later, not even batting an eye at Logan's current state of undress.

"I don't see why your slave felt the need to _request_ permission for me to enter your chambers." Derek rolled his eyes. "I practically live here during the summer."

"Oh, don't mind Aristus," Logan waved dismissively. "He's new. Doesn't know all the quirks and habits yet. He'll get used to it." Logan grabbed his bronze tunic off his bed.

"…Is there any reason you're wearing your _best _chiton?" Derek asked with a cocked eyebrow as Logan slipped into his new attire. Logan felt himself blush and tightened the belt about his waist, accidentally pulling a little too hard and letting out a loud, "Oof!"

Logan cleared his voice after a moment and shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "No reason. I just like this one is all. Father and I have things to do this afternoon, and I need to look decent."

"You haven't worn it for casual wear since you were trying to woo that Blaine Anderson boy." Derek's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "What are you doing with your father this afternoon, anyway?"

"Nothing important," Logan said, taking a large bit of his apple. "Just picking up a new slave."

"Another one? Don't you have enough scampering about this place?" Derek laughed, flopping down onto Logan's bed.

"I suppose," Logan said. "But this one will be for my use only."

"How did you talk your father into that?"

"I didn't talk him into anything. He promised me anything I wanted if I went to the play yesterday, and I requested a personal slave."

"I wish I could be a stubborn brat like you and still get everything I wanted."

"I don't get everything I want," Logan mumbled. _If I did, I'd be allowed to marry any boy I wanted_. "I still have yet to receive a new javelin set. And I haven't been allowed to swap out my lyre for a kithara."

"Well, unless you plan on taking up musical professionally—which, you've been adamant against from the start—I can see your father won't waste his money on a kithara. And if you wanted new javelins so badly, why didn't you ask for them instead of a slave?" Derek pointed out. "All you'd have to do is ask your father to use one of your house slaves as your own. What about that Aristus? He seems like he'd be well enough."

"You don't understand," Logan sighed. "This slave is…different. It's not just about having someone to wait on me. I want a companion. Someone I can talk to."

For a moment, Logan was concerned Derek would be offended for calling him ill company. Instead, the other boy was gaping at him.

"What?" Logan said, bristling under Derek's judgmental gaze.

"You're going after that slave from the marketplace, aren't you?" Derek demanded, voice full of contempt and disbelief. "The one you bought the fruit for."

"Now, what would make you think a thing like that?" Logan admonished, but he knew Derek could tell he was avoiding the question.

"Because of the way you looked at him when you first saw him," Derek said quickly, jumping up from Logan's bed and following the other man's adverted stare. "It was as though you'd just found the most beautiful wood nymph frolicking through a field, as if you'd heard the enchanting call of a siren, as though the heavens themselves had opened up—"

"You, my friend, are exaggerating," Logan grumbled. "I most certainly did not look like that."

"Oh, but you did," Derek told him. "It was almost endearing, had it been directed at a person you'd be able to _marry_." Logan's eyes flashed with anger, hardening into carved emerald. Derek was well aware of all of Logan's secrets, and now he was toeing the line of what was reasonable berating and what would get him thrown against a wall. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"I don't see you settling down any time soon," Logan hissed.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I've been getting better. Only one or two liaisons a week now. However, my attractions will be able to bear me children one day. The same cannot be said for yours."

"Shut up."

"Logan." Derek sounded sad, almost pitying. It infuriated Logan. "Look, I have no problems whatsoever with the fact that you like…men. And I'm sure there are others who wouldn't care either, but your father has been trying to get you to settle down for a while now and give him grandchildren. He won't pay for you to live a life of laziness and tomfoolery forever, you know."

"I am well aware of this," Logan said. "And it worries me every day that he'll walk in here and kick me out with nothing but the clothes on my back and small bit of money to help me get through the first few days. The only thing that has stopped him is the fact that I still have a year and a half of tutoring before I begin an apprenticeship."

"A year and a half goes by faster than you know, Logan," Derek warned. Derek stood and began to walk out. "I hope you realize what you're doing." Then he left, tunic swishing lightly as he did so.

"I hope I do too, Derek," Logan said aloud once he was sure Derek wouldn't hear him. "I hope I do too."

* * *

><p>Antipatros' home was like that of typical Greek estate; two floors with high windows, clay-tiled roof, and a large courtyard protected by a gate attached to the sides of the house. Quaint, elegant, and lovely, Logan supposed, though he did love his home much more since it wasn't quite so traditional. But it certainly wasn't sore on the eyes as Logan and his father made their way up the path.<p>

Father had sent out a messenger earlier in the day asking for a meeting with him, and Antipatros had responded quickly with an affirmation of the request. So when they finally halted before the gates, it took the slaves hardly any time to usher them into the courtyard.

"We shall fetch our master right away," the fat man Logan recognized from the marketplace said. He eyed Logan suspiciously right before departing, and Logan responded to him with his most dazzling grin. He only allowed a hint of disdain to creep into it.

Logan's father caught onto his antagonistic behavior almost immediately. "Stop that. You're at the age where you should be acting more like a grown man, Logan, not a child."

"I apologize, Father," Logan answered, though it was more an automatic response than a sincere one. He really had no regret towards his action at all.

"John!" a tall man with bulging muscles, soft blue eyes, and a full, fiery red beard that matched his long mane of hair thundered as he stepped into the courtyard.

"Antipatros," John said, offering his hand to the large man. The other man pushed it aside and enveloped John in a bear hug.

"I haven't seen you in ages," Antipatros said. "Though I suppose we've both been rather busy, haven't we?"

"Unfortunately so," John said. "We should get together for a game of Capaneus. I rather miss those."

"I'll bring the wine if you bring the women." Antipatros laughed. Then his attention shifted to Logan. "Well now. This couldn't possibly be young Logan, now could it? The small boy who used to frolic about your courtyard?"

"The one and the same," John said, patting Logan on the back in a rare gesture of almost pride.

"You've turned into a rather striking young man." Antipatros beamed at Logan. Logan couldn't help but return the man's smile. "I told you he'd be a lady killer. I'm sure you've got dozens of maidens just _begging _for the opportunity to be your wife." He winked a cornflower blue eye at Logan.

"A few, yes," Logan said bashfully. And it was true. Though he hardly returned the affections. "But I'm attempting to focus on my studies before settling down. I'd like to be able to provide the type of life for my children that my father has done for me, if not better." John actually seemed quite pleased at this explanation. He'd probably use it the next time someone questioned Logan's motivation.

"That's what I like to see in the youth! Ambition! Not willing to settle for any less than the absolute best!" Antipatros grabbed Logan's hand in a firm grasp. "I'm sure your father is proud to call you his son."

"Who wouldn't?" John shrugged, though Logan knew better than anyone the answer to that was John himself.

"Now, I enjoy good banter as much as the next man, but your letter said you required business?" Antipatros' demeanor changed from open and friendly to a little more closed off and reserved. He was still easy to talk to, but one could tell he wasn't the type of person to dawdle for too long.

"Yes, it did," John said simply. "You see, Logan has made a request from me, and I feel obliged to indulge him in it. I hardly spoil him anymore, you see, as he's grown up so quickly, but this is something I felt he's earned after all the hard work he's put into his studies and being such a model son."

_Lying comes so easily to you, Father. It's no wonder Mother doesn't trust a damn thing that tongue of yours says_, Logan thought bitterly.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Why don't you explain what you would like to Antipatros, son?" John deflected to Logan. The blond boy bit back his sneer at his father's blatantly attempt to reverse his decision. It was so like John to wait until he had Logan in front of an audience to embarrass him.

But Logan wasn't backing down. Not from this.

"I would like a slave for myself," Logan explained. "One that will answer only to me and my orders."

"And why not go to the slave trader?" Antipatros asked. The man paused for a moment, then added, "Unless there is a particular slave you are looking for?"

"That would be the case," Logan said. "I met him in the marketplace yesterday. I do not know his name, but I could pick him out easily enough—"

"No need," Antipatros interrupted. "I know which slave you speak of. Capaneus?" He turned to the stout man. Capaneus bowed immediately.

"Yes, Master?"

"Fetch me Julian."

Logan sucked in a harsh breath. _Julian._ A name shouldn't have had such an effect on him, but the way it rolled around in his ears and danced about his brain was enticing. A beautiful name would fit the beautiful boy.

"At once," Capaneus said and bowed once more before darting into the home.

Antipatros and Logan's father started making small talk once more after a few moments of silence. Logan, however, kept a watchful eye on the door, hoping to see a familiar mop of brown hair rush through the door.

"Did you hear that Bakchos was price gauging again?" Antipatros shook his head.

"Will that man ever learn to be fair?" John sighed. "He makes more than enough to support his family and maintain a leisurely life. Why must he prey on the less fortunate to satisfy his vices?"

"I don't know, but as much as that man drinks and gambles, it doesn't surprise me that he'd resort to such misdeeds. Gambling is probably one of our greatest downfalls. It's how I acquired the theater production and a few of my slaves."

"Really?"

"Yes, Travis—you remember him, of course?—who owned it before, borrowed from me and then couldn't pay me back. He was a friend, so I trusted him and lent out much more than I should have. Poor man had to give me just about everything he owned."

"That's tragic," John said. "We're getting worse and worse with each generation."

"Undoubtedly so," Antipatros agreed. "Hopefully, though, there will be more men like your son in the next generation to come, and we'll have a little hope left."

"Oh, I doubt we're to the point yet. It will probably be a few more kin down the line before that will happen." To Antipatros and any other who would have been listening, it would have seemed to be a compliment. To Logan, however, it was biting insult. Of course, Logan allowed his father's words not to affect him on the outside—though inside, it left quite a welt on his pride—and continued to act indifferent.

He even managed to remain unaffected, though only just, even when Capaneus returned with the boy in tote, scolding him harshly.

"When I tell you to come with me, you do so!" Capaneus practically screeched.

"You didn't say the master required my presence," the boy scoffed. "You simply found me and demanded I follow you. Last time I check, you were not my master."

"But you do owe me your respect!"

"Julian," Antipatros one was stern, yet almost fond, like a father scorning his child lightly for a small mistake. The boy—_Julian_, Logan told himself, almost giddy at how perfect a name this boy's parents chose for him—dipped for a low bow. Capaneus sneered with satisfaction and was dismissed by Antipatros with a slight nod of his head.

"Yes, Master?"

"Do not aggravate Capaneus. He's insufferable when you do so." Antipatros and Julian both smiled, as if this were a joke between the two o them.

"If he did not treat me as though I were not good enough to clean the scum off his feet, maybe I would be more inclined to treat him with a bit more dignity," Julian answered. His tone was utterly polite and even, not a single hint of malice or hatred seeping in.

_It seems as though he's a better actor than even I figured_, Logan realized thoughtfully. Such a talent was surely destined for more than the life of a slave.

"I understand, Julian," Antipatros said. His attention once again refocused on Logan. "This is the boy you wanted?" Only then did Julian seem to acknowledge the other two men in the courtyard. His eyes passed over John with ease, but came to a sudden halt on Logan. Logan's cheeks began to flush as Julian's façade broke, absolute disgust and incredulity finding their way into the sharp angles and soft curves of his face.

"Yes," Logan answered curtly.

"He is perhaps one of my best boys," Antipatros said wistfully. "I've had him most of his life, since he was around seven or eight. I'm afraid to say I won't part with him easily. Are you sure you don't wish to take your business to the slave trader? As I said before, I'm sure he could find you an adequate boy."

"Son?" John prodded, eyes watching Logan with a piqued curiosity. Probably to see how sincere Logan was in his wish.

Hesitation held him for only a brief moment; then the bruise beneath Julian's eyes and the matching bruise beneath that was sure to be beneath his tunic from where the man kicked him yesterday madehim stronger, more assured in his decision.

"No. He is the one I want," Logan said briskly. "I haven't been this sure in a while." _Not since I realized how much I prefer my own gender over the opposite._

"I will give you one talent for him." Logan's eyes went wide.

_A whole talent?_

"You can't be serious, John," Antipatros said. "Six hundred drachmas? For one slave boy?"

"I'm not merely buying my son a slave; I am buying him…" John stopped, as if searching for the right word. "…a 'companion,' so to speak. And if he wishes for this boy, then so it shall be."

Antipatros seemed lost in thought. He kept looking between Logan and the boy Julian, his eyes lingering on Julian. Julian stared back, as though pleading for him to say no. The fondness from between them grew, amplified to almost a father-son level. Almost.

"...Only a fool would turn down such an offer," Antipatros said. "And I pride myself on being a fairly intelligent man." He brought a heavy hand down on Julian's shoulder. "I believe we have a deal."

"I will need a day or so to give you your money, so we will come back for the boy—"

"Oh, John, I know you have more than enough money to pay me," Antipatros murmured. "Julian…go gather your things."

"But Master—"

"You have a new master now," Antipatros said remorsefully. He raised sorrowful eyes to Logan's and added, "And I expect him to be good to you." An unspoken, _Or else,_ hung in the air, a promise more than a threat. Logan and his father said nothing. This was an exchange between a slave and his now former master. Too intrude would be not only distasteful, but an outright breech of etiquette.

Julian's shoulders slumped marginally, disappointment and resignation coming off him in waves.

"Yes, sir," he said. Then he made to speak to John, but the older man shook his head before he could and gestured to Logan.

"He is your master," John explained. "Not I."

Julian reluctantly turned to Logan. His voice was completely void of emotion, but those bright eyes gave away his anger. "I will be right back…Master."

Logan was silent for a few moments, before he realized everyone was watching him in anticipation of how he would handle this next step. Because that boy was _his _slave, who would only listen to him. Not his father or his mother. Just Logan. Owning a slave was a huge responsibility, and one Logan was not going to fuck up.

"Very good then," Logan said, mimicking his father's tone when talking to slaves. "Hurry back. I don't like to be kept waiting."

"Of course, Master. I shall be but a moment," Julian said obediently. He bowed to all three of the men, before rushing back into the house.

"Very good, Logan," John commended.

"Very, very good," Antipatros agreed. "A few words of caution: Julian is an incredibly stubborn and prideful boy. At least as far as slaves go. He will do whatever you say, of course, but his attitude while attending to it will depend on how he is treated. You can see with Capaneus he is brash and borderline rude; that is because Capaneus treats him as such, while with me, he is polite and courteous. This might be because I am at the very top of the hierarchy of power in this house, but I don't believe it so. Julian is just as polite to the other slaves as he is to me if they act towards him in a civil manner. Treat him right, and he will be perhaps the best servant you could ever ask for; treat him poorly and he will be mediocre at best."

"And why would you buy him if his behavior is such?" John asked. "It seems to be like he'd be a terrible purchase…" Logan could tell from his father's voice that was his he was pleased by this revelation. Perhaps because owning such a difficult servant would teach Logan a lesson or two about patience and obedience. There might have been a slightly bit of regret at having spent so much on an arrogant slave, but not a great deal.

Antipatros shook his head. "I did not buy him. He was part of the payment from the theater."

"Really?" John laughed. "Travis would own such a rueful slave.

"Oh, he wasn't Travis' slave," Antipatros said softly. "He was his son."

"What? You mean to say that boy—"

"Is the son of Travis and Dolce Armstrong," Antipatros nodded. "He typically goes by his mother's maiden name—Larson—when asked, to cover up any possible connection. He doesn't take kindly to pity."

_And don't I know it_, Logan thought gloomily.

Julian was out soon after that, a small cloth bag hanging from his shoulder.

"…I am ready," he announced. Then, as if an afterthought, added , "Master."

"Go ahead, Logan," John said. "Take him home and get him set up. Since he is yours, he will be sleeping in your chambers, I assume." Logan nodded swiftly. "All right. I'm going to stay a little longer to talk with Antipatros and set up a payment plan for the boy. "

"Yes, Father," Logan said. "Come along." He motioned for Julian to follow him. The brown-eyed boy seemed to debate whether to listen or not and looked to Antipatros for assurance. The large man smiled sadly once more, before a small jerk of his chin told Julian to follow.

"Right away, Master," Julian sighed. The two exited through the gate, Julian give the estate a final once-over. Then they began to journey to the Wright home.

"You will like it at my house," Logan said as they passed through the city. Julian said nothing in return. "We treat our slaves well. Many of them are more like family than they are property—"

"Why are you doing this?" Julian asked loudly, pausing in the middle of the street. It was a side street, so there weren't many people around, but the few who were stopped and stared. "I say I never want to see you again, and you answer with finding and buying me for your personal use. What do you think you're accomplishing?

_I'm saving you, _Logan's brain answered. _I'm trying to give you a better life. _Although after the display in the courtyard, Logan wondered if he really was making the right choice. But then the events of yesterday played out in his mind, the cut on the boy's lip disgusting puffed out and discolored. So Logan set his jaw firmly as he answered, "Righting an injustice."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Aristophanes' Redux  
><strong>Author:<strong> br33_br33/Sparkylovesfire/taweesha  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Logan/Julian. Ancient Greek AU. Slave!Julian.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: M (for later chapters)  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 4,078

**Warnings:** Historical inaccuracies. I'm afraid that while I know some things about Greek culture, I am far from an expert. And there will probably be some things I have to make incorrect for the sake of the story. Sorry in advance. Also, rating is because there will be sex later on, and maybe some light dub-con (really light, I promise). As well for this chapter, not Beta'd. All mistakes are mine, and I'm sorry for them.

**Summary:** Logan is the son of a wealthy aristocrat. One day in the marketplace, he meets a boy with sparkling brown eyes, and his life changes for good.

_**Author's Note: I'm terribly sorry for how long you've had to wait for this, and I appreciate your patience with me. Without further ado, the third chapter of Aristophanes' Redux.**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Dalton, Logan or Julian. They belong to the lovely Miss CP Coulter. There will be random characters that I made up for the stories purposes. But most of them belong to Mama CP._

* * *

><p><em>"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat."~Mother Teresa<em>

Logan was actually very proud of the place he was bringing Julian to live in. The Wright house broke the norm of typical Greek style in only a few ways, and hardly anything worth worrying about. In fact, it actually made it quite the sight. The only prominent differentiation was the high stone walls surrounding the entire property instead of just the courtyard. Logan's father had always been paranoid of bandits, so he put every bit of security he could possible manage into protecting his family. And by family, what Father really meant was his concubines and fortune.

It was only because of this particular addition to the Wright estate that Logan was able to convince Father into tearing out part of the wall of his bedroom, the part facing the south, towards the rolling hills and vast farmland. It was only practical, Logan had explained to Father. Logan's activities would sometimes have him wandering in at all hours of the morning. It was bad enough that he kept the slaves and guards up; no need to add his mother and father to that list as well.

Speaking of, Mother was waiting the moment he and Julian walked in, the latter slightly behind the former.

"Logan," she said with crossed arms. "It's nice to see you.

"You too, Mother," Logan said obediently, though it was plain from the tension in their voices and the harsh glares they examined each other with that it was not nice at all.

"I hadn't seen you at all this morning. I was beginning to think you'd finally gone off and found something worth doing with your life—who is this?" she asked, suddenly noticing Julian and scanning the boy's body appreciatively. Her leer made Logan's stomach clench. Though, he supposed, no one could blame her. Father had his own array of women to choose from at any time he choose (though his favorite was by far the lovely, if not all that bright, Michelle. She was also the kindest of all), but it was hardly possible for Mrs. Wright to partake in the same such endeavors. Mother probably hadn't satisfied her…erm, desires in quite a while.

_Bad thoughts, bad thoughts…_

"My new slave," Logan said sharply and concisely. "Father bought him for me."

"Oh?" she hummed. "Whatever could you need a slave for? There are many just roaming the halls of this place." The utter disdain for "this place" she still called home was evident in her sneer. She would love nothing more than do depart from the walls of the Wright home and take up residence with her father or brother. Though Logan tried all his life to distance himself from his mother, it still weighed heavily on his heart that she thought so little of him. That she would much rather abandoned her own child to get away from the man she thought an utter monster. Was Logan really so much like his father that she had not one ounce of motherly tenderness for him?

"I wanted one of my own," Logan explained swiftly, ignoring the sinking feeling that washed over him. "One who would only listen to me and do only what I asked. Not one of father's."

"I suppose that's reasonable," Mother nodded with another glance over Julian's figure. Logan fought the urge to step between them.

"Yes, one of _mine._ Exclusively." Her smirk faltered, and she seemed to understand his meaning, and though seeming a little put out, stopped admiring Julian as though he were some piece of meat to be devoured. At least, stopped blatantly doing so.

"Well, I do hope you intend on getting him a new outfit," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand at Julian's attire. "Did his former master allow him to go out in public like this? It's an absolute travesty. An embarrassment. See to it he's fit for social activities at once."

His mother, being as inattentive as she was, didn't see the way Julian's jaw tightened or how his shoulders straightened out. But Logan did, and it bothered him much more than was probably acceptable that his new slave be not only undressed with his mother's eyes but insulted by her too. All before even being in the Wright home ten minutes.

"Of course, Mother," Logan said. "We'll go speak with Michelle about getting him a new wardrobe right away."

"Good," she nodded, though her demeanor turned stony at the mention of Michelle. "Now if you'll excuse me. I have…things to attend to." She left them without another word.

"I apologize for my mother's inconsiderate behavior," Logan said the moment she was out of earshot. "She has this horrible tendency of being blunt to the point of rudeness."

"Well, she ought to have all the facts before she opens her mouth," Julian said hotly, nose scrunched up. "My mas—former master was not in charge of my clothing; that was one of Capaneus' various duties. He always made sure to give me the most torn hand-me-downs from the older slaves." Julian's temper waned, but he remained indignant, arms crossed over his chest and scowl prominent on his beautiful face.

Logan smiled. "Fret not. I'm not very fond of my mother either, and I don't expect you to be. But she is right. You are in need of new outfits. Follow me."

Though Michelle was his father's favorite, she, like all the other female slaves his father owned, as well as Mother most of the time, had to stay on the second floor of the Wright home, away from the social interactions and festivities. She was actually sitting at the loom when Logan and Julian arrived.

"Hello, Young Master Logan," she beamed, bubbly as ever. "Who is this you've brought with you?"

Logan smiled at her. "This is Julian. He is my new slave."

"Oh! Your father has let you have one for yourself?" Michelle said. "That's wonderful! I was telling him just the other day that he ought to let you have more responsibilities than he does. I'm glad to see he's taken it to heart."

_Why doesn't that surprise me? Father always has other intentions when it comes to me and the things I want._ Logan's mood soured slightly at the thought, but he didn't allow it to show.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Logan smiled. Julian was oddly quiet, brushing his wavy hair out of his face. Logan's heart stuttered at the sight, the overwhelming need to do it himself making his hand twitch. He coughed and continued, "We are here because Julian needs new clothes. Ones that reflect the Wright home and its pride and status."

"Of course!" Michelle jumped out of her seat, rounding Julian. "These seem quite worn. I'm sure you were due for new ones sometime soon anyway. Just allow me to take a few measurements." She picked a small bit of woven cloth out of her basket and began wrapping it around Julian's waist, hips, thighs, chest, and shoulders. She needed not to write down the numbers; though she wasn't the brightest of all the Wright slaves, this was one of the few things she could remember with ease. She was born with an eye for clothing and all its details.

"So, Julian," Michelle said as she deftly met the two parts of the string around Julian's chest, memorizing where it crossed for later use. "I don't believe you've spoken a word since arriving. How are you this fine day?"

"All right, I suppose," Julian sighed. "A lot has happened within the last hour or two. I'm still trying to absorb it."

"Understandable," Michelle nodded. "I remember my first time coming to the Wright home. I was terrified. I had no idea what was going to happen. But Mr. and Mrs. Wright were very welcoming."

_Yes, Mother was. Until she caught you and Father in their bed chambers_, Logan thought wistfully. He had no anger towards Michelle. As a slave, she couldn't have said no had she wanted to. But Mother didn't see it like that. So there poor Michelle stood, known by most outside of the Wrights as the woman who broke a marriage. Not that it was uncommon or even that badly frowned upon. It was mostly the women who found fault in it, but since their opinions hardly mattered to their husbands (with the rare exception, of course), Father's reputation stayed mostly intact.

"—and so was Logan here," Michelle teased. She pinched the blond boy's cheek affectionately, earning herself a scoff from Logan. "He was by far the nicest. He called me the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen."

_Which hardly means what you think it does coming from me_. Logan rolled his eyes.

"You'll like it here," Michelle continued. "Just be sure to make yourself scarce when someone is in an uproar. Things tend to get heated very quickly if you're not careful." Logan felt his cheeks flush. She spoke the truth. Logan and Father especially were known for their hot tempers. Even Mother could become quite the vile witch (or at least, more so than usual) when found in a foul mood. It embarrassed Logan to think that this boy would see those things firsthand.

"I'll keep that in mind," Julian said, glancing at Logan from the corner of his eye.

"Since you're Logan's slave, and not one of the Wright home, you should be all right when it comes to the others slaves. Where will you be staying?"

"With me," Logan said, quicker than he'd intended. Michelle smiled at him knowingly as Julian simply glanced away focusing on a chipped portion of the wall. "Um. He'll be staying with me."

"Of course," Michelle said, smirking as she wrapped the string around her hand. "I would expect no less. Now, I should have at least one of your outfits done by tomorrow. Most likely one for typical day wear."

"Thank you," Julian said.

"Just doing my job, sweetie. Now, don't let Mrs. Wright get to you. She treats most people poorly. Even the ones who do nothing wrong."

"How did you know?" Julian asked, slightly stunned

"Because Mrs. Wright puts almost everyone in the same mood. It's as though she can't help it." Michelle shrugged. "She doesn't think before she talks sometimes. So just let it roll off your shoulders, and you'll be fine." She pecked Julian's cheek in a motherly fashion before doing the same to Logan and sending them on their way.

"Don't forget to stop by the kitchen and fetch his welcoming platter," Michelle reminded as they departed. "I'm sure Ampelios will have something lying about."

"Thank you, Michelle," Logan called. "I'll be sure to do that." He'd nearly forgotten about that. The excitement of wanting to impress Julian and uncertainty of his decision had been weighing on his mind heavily, and they were making him a terrible new master.

"She seems nice," Julian said quietly as they walked down the stairs.

"She is," Logan said. "A little ditzy at times. But she's much warmer than Mother. Father likes her more too. My chambers are this way. I'll drop you off there, and then go to the kitchen to order your welcome platter." Logan grabbed Julian's hand to guide him down a small hallway to the right. His skin seemed to prickle at the contact, causing a spark to jolt up his arm and make his stomach do flips.

Though he hardly wanted to, he let go the moment they were in the correct corridor. Julian recoiled once he did, stepping almost to the other side of the hall. Logan wanted to slap himself.

_Once again, Logan, you've taken a bad situation and made it worse. That seems to be yours and Father's greatest flaw, is it not? You can't just leave something alone. At least before your screw ups only affected you. Now you've gone and completely uprooted a boy's life. All because you don't know how to accept when something isn't and will never truly be yours._

Whether Logan was talking about Julian's appreciation or love in general, it hardly matter. The sentiment was true in both cases.

Mrs. Wright had told a kitchen slave ahead of time of the new arrival, and so the platter of fruit, cheese, and nuts was ready for them the moment Logan stepped foot into the kitchen. Only the wine had yet to be poured, and only because Ampelios was unsure if it should be mixed heavy or light.

"Light," Logan said immediately. "Best not to overwhelm him his first day here."

"Of course, young Master," the slave answered. He turned to the krater and mixed together one part wine and two parts water. Then he poured the contents into a kylix and placed it on the tray.

"Shall I bring these to your chambers, young Master?" Ampelios asked. Logan pursed his lips for a moment, contemplative.

"No," he said at last. "I'll take it myself." Ampelios nodded, hardly surprised by Logan's decision. Logan often did things such as this to annoy Father. _"You have so many hired hands at your disposal, yet you insist on doing things for yourself. It looks as though you don't feel the slaves as good enough."_ Logan's lips quirked.

He could do _one _thing right. Piss Father off to no end.

"Thank you," Logan said, picking the tray up.

"If you require anything else, young Master Logan, simply call," Ampelios told him, bowing. Logan nodded.

"Of course." He departed after without another word, shoulders squared and superiority coming off of him in waves. Though he didn't always use the slaves to their full potential, they still ought to know their place beneath him. Logan's generosity and appreciation were not because he thought of any of them as his equal. Rather, it was partly to aggravate Father, partly because he knew his high position and wished to show that not all men with power were corrupt, though a majority of those he knew were. It was Logan's way to, within the boundaries of what was at least not an outright breech of etiquette, defy what was expected of him. That was just what Logan Wright did. Defied expectations. Be them good or bad.

When Logan walked into his chambers, Julian was still standing in the same spot he'd left the slave boy. The only difference was his wandering eyes, memorizing the layout of Logan's room.

"Is there any reason a large portion of your wall seems to have gone missing? Did you not get your way with something and go on a rampage or…?" Julian asked.

"A way for me to sneak in late without disturbing Mother and Father," Logan explained. "Instead of cutting through the main part of the house, I simply walk around and enter here."

"Ahh," Julian said. "Do you come home late often?"

"Sometimes." Logan shrugged. "It usually depends upon Derek. How long he's willing to deal with me."

"It seems that most don't like to be in your company for too long, doesn't it?" Julian mused. Though it was said with such little inflection (practically monotone), Logan still heard the implied insult, and though he willed it not to, it stung. Quite a bit.

"I suppose I'm not exactly the easiest person to get along with," Logan answered. "Derek usually abandons me once he's found a more challenging conquest. One with soft curves and more appealing entertainment possibilities."

"Makes sense," Julian said. "He is, after all, a young man with desires. It's hard not to fulfill them."

"I've never blamed him for it," Logan said, though he had judged Derek on several occasions. He sets the tray down on a table before his small couch. "Please, eat. I'm sure you require at least a little something after such a long day."

Julian looked apt to argue with him, but discarded it in favor of plopping down and nibbling lightly at a few nuts and grapes. He blatantly avoided the slice of pomegranate, nudging it almost absent-mindedly to the side. He poured a bit of the wine onto the ground and said a soft prayer to Athena before sipping it slowly, like someone who understood the necessity of prudence and restraint. It gave Logan an odd sort of respect for him.

"Is it normally for residence of the Wright house to stare so often?" Julian asked with a slight bite to his voice. Logan's previous admiration for the boy was replaced by offensiveness; it made Logan's skin prick angrily. This boy was his _slave_. It didn't matter how witty or intriguing or beautiful he might have been. He was still beneath Logan and had no right to speak thusly. It was the sort of insolence Logan's behavior in the kitchen was meant to squash.

"Now look here," Logan said, but Julian continued, almost rambling.

"You, your father, your mother—you seem to have a terrible habit of gawking. Maybe it's because you're forced to look at each other all day, and I do feel terribly sorry for you about that, but it's hardly an attractive characteristic—"

"I'm willing to overlook your comments from earlier today and deem them due to severe emotional distress," Logan spat through gritted teeth. "Today has been long, and your world has been completely changed around. I'm sympathetic to this. To an extent. But do not forget whose home you now reside in."

"Yes, your father's," Julian returned, crossing his arms. Logan's fist clenched, tightening along with the rest of his body in an effort to remain in control of his temper.

"But my father is not your master. I am," Logan told him. "And I do not take kindly to being insulted in my home. You'd do your best to get all you jeering and condescending remarks out of the way now because come tomorrow morning I will not be quite so tolerable to any kind of backtalk." Logan took an intimidating step forward so he was eye-to-eye with Julian, though the slave was significantly shorter. Logan added once Julian's fearless brown eyes met his, "Am I understood?"

The corner of Julian's lips perked up, as if he couldn't believe Logan really thought scaring Julian into submission would work. But nevertheless, he said simply, "Yes. Master."

"Good," Logan said. Though he knew there was nothing more he could do to dispel his anger, it still maintained a tight grip over him, squeezing his chest and making it difficult for Logan to breathe properly. He needed to leave, separate himself from the situation before his anger grew out of control and caused injury to either Julian or one of the various pieces of furniture in Logan's room. "Now if you'll excuse me. I have better things to be doing than sitting about and being insulted by a boy who doesn't know his place."

"Where are you going, Master?" Julian asked. The word "master" seemed tacked on and insincere, which just further fanned the flames of Logan's rage.

"The gymnasium," Logan answered contritely. "Derek will most likely be there."

"Do I need to come with you?" Julian responded, standing immediately. Though his tongue and wit were sharp, he still had enough experience as a slave for it to be second nature.

"No," Logan said.

"Oh?"

_Bringing you with me would most likely just frustrate me further,_ Logan thought, but his mouth said, "Yes, it wouldn't be acceptable for you to be seen in public in your current attire. Tomorrow you will begin accompanying me." The smug look fell away from Julian's face, replaced by a look of acidic resentment. Logan almost felt badly. Almost. "I'll be back before dinner."

"Is there anything you would like me do to while you are gone?"

"Yes," Logan said immediately, surveying the disarray of his quarters. "I'd like the room cleaned. Clothes taken to be washed, the room swept and dusted, bed made, as well as for you to fetch linens for your own makeshift bed on the couch or something until one has been made for you."

"Of course, Master."

"Return the dishes to the kitchen to be washed. After you've done all of that, you may relax until I give you new instructions."

"Is that all, Master?"

"That will do, yes," Logan said. "If Mother tries to get you to do something, tell her I have explicitly instructed you not to and leave before she can con you into it. Watch out for some of the female slaves. Sirens and harpies, the lot of them. I think that's all." Logan racked his brain for any other instructions. "Avoid Father so he has no reason to dislike you more than he already does. Though you may be mine, I hardly have control if you anger him, even unintentionally, and he punishes you."

"Thank you, Master. I shall do my best," Julian said obediently, bowing to Logan.

"Good," Logan said. For a moment, he simply stood, awkwardly bobbing on the balls of his feet, not entirely sure if leaving Julian alone in the Wright home by himself was in the slave's best interest. But then Julian's eyes met his, full of the deepest sort of contempt, and a fresh reminder of _why _he was leaving pulsed through Logan. "Until later, Julian." Then Logan strode out of the room through the doorway to the side.

"Until later," Master," Julian called, a faint echo. Logan's pace didn't falter until he was outside the walls of the Wright estate. There he paused, leaning back against the stone. In the distance, he could see his father slowly making his way back with one of his servants in tote.

They were just talking. It was a rare thing to see Father idly chatting. Usually when Mr. Wright was home he kept very much to himself, only opening his mouth to speak when it was important. He couldn't talk to Mother about anything, for she would simply nod and pretend she was interested. He never just spoke to Logan. It was always a demand, lecture, or some sort of reprimand against Logan and his behavior. Sometimes for things Logan had no control over.

As the two made their way closer to the house, Logan noticed that Father was…smiling. He was smiling, and he was laughing, and he was just…happy. Happy in a way that would never be directed toward Logan. It was in these moments that Logan knew Father pretended to not have a son. Or if he did, it wasn't Logan. It was a different young man, maybe one he and Michelle had together, in a different time, in a different life. One who was smarter, stronger, and more decisive and clever than Logan. One who was just…not a disappointment. A young man had by now at least figured out what he was going to be doing with his life instead of lounging about his father's home and having his father buy him thing he didn't need, like a spoiled brat with his hand always stuck out for more.

Logan hid in the shadows until Father and the slave had walked by. There was no need to pull Father from his unusually good mood, those typically it something Logan took extreme pleasure in doing. But not today.

Once they had passed the gate into the confines of the Wright estate, Logan made his departure, never once looking back at the place that was supposed to be "home." It wasn't really that, though, was it? Home was where the people who cared about you were, where those who wanted to be around you were waiting with open arms for you. Where you felt safe, secure, _loved_.

The Wright house was simply the placed he lived, and only because he had nowhere else to go. Which begged the question that Logan dreaded thinking of, but did so daily:

Was it really better to have a roof over his head if it meant being surrounded by people who loathed, or were at least apathetic to, his very existence?

It didn't matter, though. Whether the answer to the question was yes or no was hardly consequential. Because Logan would never act on it. Until he had some sort of work and the ability to maintain a home of his own, he was stuck in Father's house. Until then, he still just a little boy too scared to leave.

It could be worse, he supposed. How wasn't entirely clear, but surely there was some way.


End file.
